There's No Place Like Home
by Psamathe
Summary: Alex Drake is home...or so she thinks. Gene/Alex UST


"My name is Alex Drake, and I've been away for a very long time…"

I pause in my dictation, wondering what else there is to say. I've described this a hundred times or at least that's how it feels. It's keeping me away from my daughter and away from my job and I hate it. 

All I wanted was to get back here, back to 2008 and I did it. I made it home. Now I find myself wondering if this was how Sam Tyler felt. Did this push him over the edge? 

Was he trying so hard to prove that it was all real that he … 

Some nights I cry. Quietly, to myself so that Molly can't hear. She thinks that everything is fine. Mummy got better, there's nothing in her world more important than that. Well, maybe Justin Timberlake. 

They're calling it depression or post traumatic stress disorder, but I know that something isn't right. I keep telling myself that I'm not Sam Tyler. I don't want to go back to that world. There's nothing for me there. Nothing… certainly not him. It was always Gene Hunt that fascinated me. Every girl likes a bit of rough, or so they say and Gene was rougher than most. 

I don't know why I Googled him. Perhaps I was trying to prove something to myself but there it was, the pixels staring back at me. DCI Gene Hunt… 1973 Manchester … 1981 London… 2008… 

In 2008, Gene Hunt was an old man. Drink and nicotine had taken their toll and his home was a hospice on the edge of Manchester. 

As soon as I walked into the room, I knew. I'd been hoping to see a stranger lying in that bed, but despite the grey hair and the weight loss, it was … him. The nurses had told me that he would probably be sleeping but he wasn't asleep. His blue eyes met mine. 

"Bloody hell Bolly, that Oil of Ulay stuff must really work. You don't look a day over forty-five."

Bastard. I'm thirty-two. 

I close my eyes and try to rid myself of the image. If he's here and I'm here, then that must mean…

"Got any booze or fags in that sack you're carrying?"

I look down at my oversized designer handbag then back at the frail figure in the bed. Everything I felt when I first landed in this twisted world is coming back. I feel sick dizzy… I feel insane. 

"Why are you here?" I yell at him. "You shouldn't be here. I'm home. I've been home for months…"

He starts to cough. Thick, heavy, wracking coughs and I know that I am watching a man at the end of his life. Is this the only way it could win? The only way that it could destroy Gene Hunt? He fumbles for the oxygen mask that hangs beside his bed. 

"You should have shagged me when you had the chance," he splutters.

"If I remember correctly, it was you who turned me down."

This probably isn't the time to remind him but my words bring a smirk to his lips.

"Yes well… we live and learn."

I take his hand, not knowing what else to say. There's nothing in this room. No cards, no gifts, no photographs. No one seems to care about this man.

"Is there anything I can get you?" I ask. 

"Two weeks to live? The only thing I want is a bloody cigarette."

"I'll see what I can do."

When I get back, he doesn't smoke them. He just leaves the packet on the bedside table for the nurses to find. 

"I should go," I tell him. I don't think that I have the strength to watch him die and that's when I see it. Standing in the doorway. Watching. Waiting. I know that it won't leave without a soul and I'm tired of fighting. I thought I was home, but I'm not. And I realise that right here, right now, I'm not strong enough, not anymore. 

Almost without conscious thought, I take a step towards it. I can't help myself. Its smile has frozen my spirit. It wants me to come closer, so I do. 

"No you bloody don't!"

The harsh words make me hesitate before something, someone pushes me out of its path. 

I though he was old. I thought he was broken, but none of that matters now. I always thought that Gene Hunt was the kind of man who would look death in the eye… I just never expected him to kick it in the balls. 

And he kept on kicking. 

There's so much blood. I don't know if it's his, or the clown's. I bury my face in my hands, unable to watch. He's killing it with his bare hands. Gene Hunt is doing what I should have done and destroying this monster. He's strong when I can't be. 

And then I wake up.

"Mummy!"

My daughter is in my arms and I wonder how many times this will happen. How many times will I 'wake up'? I'm in a hospital bed. Molly is babbling. Through the open door, I can see a corpse being wheeled away. 

Is this reality? 

I don't know. Perhaps I never will.

"My name is Alex Drake. A man died today. A good man. His name was Gene Hunt."


End file.
